Post by Jordan "Bullet Proof" Glass on Mar 18, 2007 23:24:08 GMT -5
The rain whipped against the double paned glass windows of the building that Jordan "Bullet Proof" Glass resided in for the moment. It had been a miserable day on the Avalon Peninsula of Newfoundland. Sickly rain, deathly grey skies. Thunder roared and lightning flared, nothing challenging it's unsurmountable power. A similar power resided in that dark room.
The curtains were not pulled shut, but they slowly came into view as the camera moved away from the window. The walls were dirty white and scratched. This room not a well kept place, obviously. But right now, it was all the "Bullet Proof" needed. A bed to sleep in, a roof to keep him dry, and a refrigerator to keep his beers cold. That was all this man desired for the time being. Nothing more, nothing less.
The camera panned, and the bed was seen, unmade. The sheets were a tangled fray of fabric running along the side of the bed, falling onto the floor. On both sides of the bed were night tables. Dreadful pieces of crap they were, but night tables none the less. On one was a raggedy lamp, and on the other was a dying plant. It was brown and wilted, dead as much as it could get.
Three, maybe four feet from the table on the left side of the bed was the refrigerator, which had a stove and oven beside it, and beside that was a single square meter of counter-top. It's surface was a rough green, that did not even come close to matching the white walls, but that didn't really matter now, did it.
As the camera panned past the exit door of the room, you could see Glass on the floor, sat cross legged, leaning against the wall. He was wearing a black zip-up hoodie that was only done up half way that had "Exhaust" written on the left side of his chest and two strings which dangled onto his white t-shirt inside. The t-shirt had grey designs in the foreground, and in the background was a colorful, almost rainbow like look to it. His "plugg." jeans were the type of style of jeans that looked "pre-worn" and had a patch on the shin of his left leg. On his feet, were no longer his leather boots, but black Reeboks. His hair was messy and his eyes were glassy.
On the floor beside him were about eight to ten beer cans. His smile was dumb-funny, as if he had not a single clue what was going on around him. He laughed, then spoke. His words were slurred.
~ Jordan ~
I forgo' how much fun gettin' loaded was .. I never though' tha' I be here in Nufinlend gettin' drunk. Never in a million years ..
He stopped talking, closing his eyes, then opening them very wide, as if he was dazed. Suddenly, he went pale. He leaned over to his left side over his garbage bucket and threw up. He was regurgitating for the next five to ten minutes, off and on. He sat back up when he ceased, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He laughed again.
~ Jordan ~
Wow, this is saaaaaaaad. I am twenty two, and I am here in a shit hole apartment, wasted and alone .. holy fuck this sucks donkey balls ..
Jordan falls over onto the floor, half laughing hysterically and half crying hysterically. He just lay there on the floor, helpless. It seemed that he got himself into these situations alot. Where he was like a train wreck, to use a metaphor, and needed the help of another to get back on the rails. As Danny Bonaduce says, he's a car crash, and everyone has the right to stop and watch a car crash. Let's just hope that the poor fucker makes it out of the carnage alive.
[ Reply Jake ? ]
The curtains were not pulled shut, but they slowly came into view as the camera moved away from the window. The walls were dirty white and scratched. This room not a well kept place, obviously. But right now, it was all the "Bullet Proof" needed. A bed to sleep in, a roof to keep him dry, and a refrigerator to keep his beers cold. That was all this man desired for the time being. Nothing more, nothing less.
The camera panned, and the bed was seen, unmade. The sheets were a tangled fray of fabric running along the side of the bed, falling onto the floor. On both sides of the bed were night tables. Dreadful pieces of crap they were, but night tables none the less. On one was a raggedy lamp, and on the other was a dying plant. It was brown and wilted, dead as much as it could get.
Three, maybe four feet from the table on the left side of the bed was the refrigerator, which had a stove and oven beside it, and beside that was a single square meter of counter-top. It's surface was a rough green, that did not even come close to matching the white walls, but that didn't really matter now, did it.
As the camera panned past the exit door of the room, you could see Glass on the floor, sat cross legged, leaning against the wall. He was wearing a black zip-up hoodie that was only done up half way that had "Exhaust" written on the left side of his chest and two strings which dangled onto his white t-shirt inside. The t-shirt had grey designs in the foreground, and in the background was a colorful, almost rainbow like look to it. His "plugg." jeans were the type of style of jeans that looked "pre-worn" and had a patch on the shin of his left leg. On his feet, were no longer his leather boots, but black Reeboks. His hair was messy and his eyes were glassy.
On the floor beside him were about eight to ten beer cans. His smile was dumb-funny, as if he had not a single clue what was going on around him. He laughed, then spoke. His words were slurred.
~ Jordan ~
I forgo' how much fun gettin' loaded was .. I never though' tha' I be here in Nufinlend gettin' drunk. Never in a million years ..
He stopped talking, closing his eyes, then opening them very wide, as if he was dazed. Suddenly, he went pale. He leaned over to his left side over his garbage bucket and threw up. He was regurgitating for the next five to ten minutes, off and on. He sat back up when he ceased, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He laughed again.
~ Jordan ~
Wow, this is saaaaaaaad. I am twenty two, and I am here in a shit hole apartment, wasted and alone .. holy fuck this sucks donkey balls ..
Jordan falls over onto the floor, half laughing hysterically and half crying hysterically. He just lay there on the floor, helpless. It seemed that he got himself into these situations alot. Where he was like a train wreck, to use a metaphor, and needed the help of another to get back on the rails. As Danny Bonaduce says, he's a car crash, and everyone has the right to stop and watch a car crash. Let's just hope that the poor fucker makes it out of the carnage alive.
[ Reply Jake ? ]
